


glow-in-the-dark

by dannyikigay



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemy Lovers, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, two lovers being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyikigay/pseuds/dannyikigay
Summary: "I've always thought you were uncatchable," Allen murmured. He combed through Tyki's curly hair, loving how it felt beneath his fingers, soft, thick, made to be pulled each time Tyki's tongue licked gently across the inner of Allen's thigh, secretive and natural. Right then, Allen's voice sounded heavier, thinner, and he never stopped caressing Tyki's cheek. "A wanderer, always travelling, always leaving. You like women and games, and I can't tell when you'll go away."





	glow-in-the-dark

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to @fairagon on twitter and for everyone who loves this ship. i love them.

The flame, burning in the chimney, created a brisky flicker into Tyki's amber eyes. It was dim, modest, mesmerising, a sweet oxymoron with the ghostly white of delicate snow falling quiet, soundless, outside the old wooden window. Winter, most likely, had silenced every sound for the sake of a peaceful dream.

It was almost disrespectful, almost obscene, then, the sound of Allen's lips sliding against Tyki's; the kiss was slow, lazy, warm. Chaste, even, as Allen dragged Tyki's fleshy lower lip between his pale teeth; when he parted and saw that Tyki was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, through long, dark, elegant eyelashes, a haze more reassuring than arousing, the boy barely pressed his lips onto his mouth, calm and bashful.

Tyki was handsome, irresistibly masculine; prominent jawbones, the caustic taste of tequila on the tip of his tongue, veiny hands, sturdy chest, protective arms. Allen's breath came out painful, enamoured. Some details about Tyki's beauty had the power to erase the sins he must have committed, the vices he could have hinged on for the thrill, the danger of it, the love he seemed to be born for. At night, when he slept by Allen's side, he almost ceased to be the creature Allen had struggled against, the ruthless beast, and the kisses he imprinted on Allen's skin, traces of a burning desire, were like silent prayers of atonement, words of love that he muffled as he pressed his face against Allen's chest.

Perhaps, blame it on Allen's own condescending nature, he had something in him that Allen longed to forgive; human flaws, human heart, something proud, addictive, as black as his soul. Allen could picture him perfectly. His fingers, long and rough, knew where to touch, how to squeeze. In spite of dishevelled instincts, wandering recklessness, he had the voice of a scorching summer afternoon, something deep, sensual, taunting, profoundly nostalgic. A dream. A desire.

He was a man to fix. A man to tame.

They sat in front of the fireplace, next to each other, in a humble, mahogany refuge, stripped naked, intimately close. It was cheap, all cramped walls and yellowed tiles, anonymous chairs, ancient vitality. No paintings, no hidden messages, no curtains. In front of the bed, there was a creaking table, where Tyki's cigarettes, his lighter, his gloves, rested, abandoned. Alongside his properties, a bottle of bourbon, half-empty. Invisible, a sofa took place in the room, comfortable even if rugged. They could've rested there, but somehow, curling up next to each other on the floor had another expression to it.

Tyki picked up a white blanket from the floor, wrapped it around Allen's pale body. They had made love, and the ecstasy sat still onto Allen's flushed face, messy hair, swollen lips, marks blooming like roses on his frail neck. He pulled his knees up to his chest and slung his arms around, defensively. Vulnerable, actually. He liked that he was the one with a scalding duvet around his shoulders, while Tyki was immune to any sort of cold weather, barefoot, exposed chest, bare, beautiful arms, like an exotic dancer, a summer temptation, a bittersweet encounter.  
  
Surprisingly, that time he was smoking a cigar, thick and apparently expensive. Judging from Tyki's relaxed drags and soundless humming, it must've been satisfying, something intoxicatingly sensual in its consistence, its taste. Tyki smoked like he made love. Lips around the edge, as if they were pressed dirtily against Allen's pink nipple, sucking and licking and receiving nourishment.

Finally, Allen wasn't everybody's saviour anymore; he was Tyki's pretty, filthy baby, and being younger, leaner, sweeter, for a moment, was a delight that kind of drove his sensuality. He was used to saving, to defending, to crying. Tyki, even including his scruffy nature, lazy stubbles and casual amusements, was an adult. He was mature, he was grown, he was street-clever. Charming. The kind of maturity Allen needed to rely on; the kind of protection he found himself craving for.

"You saved me," Allen said. He got up only to end up sitting on Tyki's lap, straddling him, arms around his neck and slender legs around his hips. Smoothly, he looped the blanket around them, around Tyki, and he placed his left hand on Tyki's face. His words were a secretive whisper, sober and thankful, deeply meaningful. Almost erotic. _You saved me._

The man pressed a kiss to Allen's forehead, dragging his hand across his skinny back in a fond caress. "You are worth my efforts, boy."

How beautiful, how unique - to be Tyki's center of attention. Of affection. Allen should have realised it sooner - all the flirting, all the words, intense, fleeting gazes, hands brushing his, fingers on his face, around his neck, everywhere, laughter and smiles and mockeries, were eloquent signs of a feeling that went past attraction. Past infatuation. They were dangerous, but Allen never was and never would have been one to refrain from hurting himself.

"I've always thought you were uncatchable," Allen murmured. He combed through Tyki's curly hair, loving how it felt beneath his fingers, soft, thick, made to be _pulled_ each time Tyki's tongue licked gently across the inner of Allen's thigh, secretive and natural. Right then, Allen's voice sounded heavier, thinner, and he never stopped caressing Tyki's cheek. "A wanderer, always travelling, always leaving. You like women and games, and I can't tell when you'll go away."

Women, women, women - that man, with his broad chest and cigarettes and careless attitude, happened to be their dream, someone to marry for the looks, for the beauty, for the sex. Allen knew him. Allen knew that he was better than that. Worse than that. Allen _knew_ him, and Tyki was too untamed to love someone until the end of time. And _this_ \- what they had, the love they felt. Their mutual comprehension. Maybe Tyki's feelings would fade out, at some point. Maybe they would tell each other goodbye only to reunite when they were both different, and all the memories of endless nights, kisses in the dark alleys when nobody was watching, where they were Tyki and Allen, a hobo and an angel, would crumble progressively and scatter into a faraway dream.

Maybe Allen would always be in love.

(Because Tyki's beauty hurt him - he could see him with someone else, someone less insecure, some other pretty little thing like Allen. They couldn't be together, they couldn't promise, but Allen would never allow Tyki to forget who kissed him that way, who fought that way, who moaned that way.)

"Would you want to catch me?" Tyki questioned, breath ghosting over Allen's lips. The boy leaned forward to kiss him longing and wet, eyes fluttering shut, delicately.

"I don't know," Allen replied. He fell quiet for a few moments, as if being close was a valid response to all those unaddressed doubts.

The uncertainty slithered through Allen's chest, wrapping itself around his beating heart. Tyki had said nothing, waiting for Allen to continue. He always waited. No silence of his could damage Allen; in his wordlessness, he was respecting him, knowing Allen better than Allen perceived himself.

"You are terrible. You do bad things, along with your family," Allen reminded. As if to soften the cumbersome evidence of his words, he kissed Tyki's inviting lips, wet and longing; sweetly, he looked into his eyes. "Somehow, I've always sensed that there was good in you. You're so soft sometimes. So patient. I know you're human. I know you're different."

He spoke with honesty. He ran his fingers across Tyki's neck, his muscular shoulders, letting them drop on his deep scar in something that very much felt like reverence. He moaned gently when Tyki cupped the back of his head and kissed the corner of Allen's mouth, cigar still in between the fingers of his unoccupied hand.

"You're going to kill me," Tyki whispered, intoxicated, and his tone resembled a pained plea. He had feelings. He felt - and that was enough for Allen to love him deeply, wholly, painfully. "Am I not a monster to you?" he said, hesitating. He trailed lines of kisses over Allen's cheek, Allen's neck, Allen's lips. The boy was melting, driven by sparkles of adoration, and he cupped Tyki's nape, pulling him to himself, claiming him, comforting him. _You're going to kill me._  
  
(He could've resembled a monster when Joyd took over in fierce possession, frightening and terrible. He could've been, once, and perhaps Allen was naive to think that monsters couldn't reassure like Tyki did. After all, he was a monster of his own sorts.)

"You're not a monster," Allen gasped, face gleaming red. "Not anymore."

(He was anything but a monster when he kissed like that, loved like that, fucked like that, and when sweet names seemed to roll off his tongue as sensually as a love song.)

Tyki's hand was warm as it caressed Allen's cold neck; his smile was bright, simple, reassuring. As Allen looked at him, Tyki let out a breathy laugh, an amused, helpless chuckle, and he cupped Allen's face between both hands. He pressed a kiss to the top of Allen's head, leaning his forehead against his.  
  
"God, baby boy," he murmured, hot and low, squishing Allen's cheeks into his hands. He kissed him passionately; Allen tilted his head to the left just slightly, his long eyelashes tickling Tyki's cheekbones, beautifully. Allen was dying for another kiss when Tyki ran his thumb across his lips, and his breath was a seduction of alcohol and nicotine when he questioned, "how do you feel when I kiss you?"

"So nice," Allen said. "Helpless," he went on, brushing a stray curl away from Tyki's forehead, smoothing his smalls hands on that face with a sweet smile, one that Tyki could understand, something pure, the same sad little thing he'd fallen in love with, a smile that was both disarming and arousing when he whispered, "and you already know that I like it."

"And when I touch you?" Tyki asked intensely, trailing his fingers over Allen's neck, " _how_ do you feel?"

"Pretty," Allen admitted. His smile shattered into something wry, obedient, smudged by the verge of tears. He caressed Tyki's forearm, daring him to choke the breath, the life, the love from his lungs. Instead, Tyki touched Allen's cheek; all the other things, then, the snow, the war, opposing sides, the farewells, seemed to be wiped away by the touch, merciful, clear, gut-wrenching.

(He truly felt pretty, for once, every time he threw his hair back and bounced on top of Tyki's cock, scratching the muscles of Tyki's arms, pinning his hands to the mattress as the man grinned in his direction, told him he was beautiful, powerful, enrapturing.)

Tyki's caress was not a punch from the past, not a threat of the abuse, not a memory of his childhood. Tyki's hands were kind, new, careful, large and strong on his young features. They would hurt each other again; until the war was over, Allen didn't need any more proofs that Tyki was human, that he loved him, that he saved and protected him for the mess he was. He didn't need to say anything else.

There was no choice but to abandon himself to feelings when tears began to roll down Allen's cheeks. "Make love to me," he demanded, attempting to sound bratty and _himself_ when all he felt was tenderness and _hate_ for a man who violated his defences so unapologetically.

"As many times as you ask me," Tyki said. The fireplace was still burning when he started to kiss his tears away, the cigar had been consumed, nothing but ashes, traces of intoxicating smell, of heavy heartbeats.

Maybe Tyki was a mess, maybe he was no good; even so, Allen was no creature to leave him hanging. Maybe he was sinning, whilst Neah grinned of the inexorable misfortune; maybe he was losing, although seeking touch was what made him human still.

Allen kissed Tyki's neck, feeling his heartbeat underneath his fingertips as he trailed his hands down his chest, hearing Tyki's whispers, his voice, his groans. He kissed him as softly as a spring blossom, pink lips on dark skin. Tyki was a disaster, after all, black heart, black soul, and Allen perceived him to well not to grasp that good within him.

He would be Tyki's angel.

**Author's Note:**

> please, leave a comment <3


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